


Windblown

by Tahlruil



Series: Walking the Wall [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discovering the importance of letting your hair down is only slightly more crucial than remembering which mountain is your favorite. Also, Stone Fist is Hawke's favorite spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windblown

**Author's Note:**

> I clearly have a problem. I can't type fast enough to get the ideas out.

There were many important mysteries in the world that Jarod Hawke knew he would never solve. What was in The Iron Bull’s mystery alcohol for example, how many birds Leliana actually had out in the world, or even how Varric always managed to find shirts that perfectly showed off his chest hair. The most pressing mystery in his world at the moment, however, was why the Inquisitor even bothered to try and keep her hair in order while they were on the battlements. That Antivan ambassador probably bullied her into taming it when she was going to be seen by anyone ‘important’ – Maker knew she was always after him to shave his beard and brush his hair and would he _please_ stop growling at the Orlesian fops that asked him questions? The woman was relentless, and if he had to interact with her every day, he might well give in.

So Alysia pulling her hair back into a tight braid made sense when she was running around doing Inquisitor-type things. It looked nice, as far as such things went; she looked all polished, and the two lengths she left out did frame her eyes perfectly. Not that he cared, of course, he’d just… noticed. When she got up onto the wall with him though, the wind did its work quickly. Strand after strand was tugged out of the order she’d imposed, until locks were flying all around her, glinting like rose gold in the sun. It was a good look, better than the braid, in his opinion. There wasn’t anyone up here to pick at her for it either. It was just them and a few soldiers; if anyone ever arrived and _did_ start chipping away at her self-esteem, he’d hit them in the face with a Stone Fist – problem solved. Messily, but still. It was the thought that counted.

“So why bother?” When the woman whose hair was occupying his thoughts turned to him, brow furrowed in confusion, he realized he’d spoken out loud. Lifting his right hand, he scratched his cheek sheepishly, wondering if he really wanted her to know what he’d meant. She was polite enough not to ask outright, but when one brow quirked up, he knew she was curious. Andraste’s ass, he’d ruined a perfectly comfortable silence. When she realized he was preoccupied by her hair of all things, she was going to laugh him off the battlements, or things would get weird.

“The wind up here is very… windy.” Now she was staring at him like he was mad – a good start to any conversation. “I imagine it’s because of all the mountains. Too many mountains. Did you pick your favorite yet?”

“Hawke.” That single word was filled with exasperation, but he liked to think there was just a hint of fondness there too. Even if there wasn’t, he liked being the reason her smooth, even tone of voice had any emotion in it at all. “I don’t need a favorite mountain. _No one_ needs a favorite mountain. I bet you can’t even remember the one you pointed out to me the other day.”

“That is so…” Looking outward towards all the mountainous mountains, he was dismayed to realize she was right. “Beside the point, that’s what it is. I could do it, make no mistake, but I don’t feel the need to prove myself to you. Questioning the Champion of Kirkwall like this usually results in a swift death, you know.” She scoffed openly, and he wondered just when his reputation as a fierce and deadly mage had waned.

“You can find the mountain. I believe you.” She didn’t. The way one corner of her mouth curled upward told him so – the Inquisitor was definitely laughing at him inside. “But somehow, I doubt mountains were on your mind when you started this conversation.”

“I wasn’t trying to start a conversation. I was trying to give you silence and space to pick your favorite mountain. Or snow drift – if you’d rather have a snow drift, I would accept that instead.” Now she was trying not to smile, her lips twitching as she gave him the side-eye. “I can sense that you aren’t impressed by my attempts to distract you.”

“And you didn’t even have to use blood magic to figure that out.”

A long-suffering sigh left his lips, and he shook his head. “I can see you’ve been spending time with Dorian. You didn’t used to give me so much sass. I should take you over my knee.”

“Hawke!” The fierce blush on her cheeks had nothing to do with the cold air, and it made the comment worth it.

“Alright, alright. Sorry Lady Inquisitor. I’ll do my best to mind my manners.” A thought occurred to him, and he looked over at her, squinting. “Don’t tell the Seeker.”

“No promises. But if you manage to find your way back to that original topic, it would improve your chances.”

“Clever little minx. Fine.” One hand lifted, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose, not sure how to tell her without sounding completely mad. “I was wondering why you didn’t take your braid down once you got up here. The wind… I mean… it’s barely hanging in there. Your braid, that is. It’s all… messy, so I don’t know why you wouldn’t… See, this is why I started talking about mountains. By the way, that one is the one I picked. I’m sure of it.”

“No it isn’t.” That remark was said offhand, and she wasn’t even looking to where he was pointing. No, she was staring at him again, and not in a way that suggested she found him a very manly, well-muscled and attractive mage. “You were thinking about the wind. And my hair.” That clarification was not helping matters, and Jarod scrambled to think of a way to make this all not sound so odd.

He came up with absolutely nothing.

“Well when you say it like _that_.” They’d reached Cullen’s dwelling, and to continue onward to the spot where they usually lingered, they’d have to go through it. That was such a bad idea, for several reasons, so he came to a stop, forcing her to do the same. “Alright, so no matter what way you say it, it seems odd.” He held up a hand to stop her from answering, then leaned on the battlements, looking out at the landscape. “Being the Inquisitor… it must be like being Champion, but worse. Eyes on you all the time, trying to decide if you’re worthy of your title. You can’t ever please all of them – I never tried. I didn’t have people around me harping about how I needed to look and how I needed to spend my time. My friends didn’t care about any of that, so I didn’t either. If anyone didn’t like me or the way I did things, they could go to the Blighted Deep Roads for all I cared. They still can. But you…”

Still not looking at her, he shook his head. This was one of those conversations he could only have if he didn’t meet her eyes. Despite that, he knew she’d settled beside him, leaning against the wall; he could feel it without having to glance her way. “You have Josephine and Leliana constantly pecking at you. Cullen doesn’t seem as bad, but I’m sure he gets after you about some things. They’re trying to mold you into who they think the Inquisitor should be. I bet they don’t even let you pick your own clothes anymore.” From the rustle of cloth beside him, he knew she was shifting uncomfortably, confirming his guess. “Maybe you like having your hair in a braid, maybe you don’t. That isn’t really my point.”

“Then what is your point, Hawke?” Maker, he hated that her voice gave so little away. Without watching her face, he had no idea how she was taking this.

“My point, Alysia, is that you don’t have to try so hard to be perfect all the time. There aren’t any dignitaries up here, and the few soldiers won’t care if you let your hair down. You won’t lose their loyalty just because it’s a little messy. I’m the only other person up here… so you don’t have to try so hard. I know what it’s like to have everyone watching you, looking for a reason to tear you apart. When it’s just you and me and the wind…” Pausing, he reached up to rub his nose again, wishing he’d never brought this up in the first place. “Well. When that happens, if you wanted to take your hair down before the wind does it for you, that would be alright.”

Silence.

Silence for what felt like forever, and Jarod wanted to hit _himself_ in the face with a Stone Fist spell. He’d made her uncomfortable, and even if they tried to pretend this hadn’t happened, it would always be between them. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why couldn’t he learn to just keep his mouth shut? It was always getting him into trouble – maybe Iron Bull would sew it closed for him if he asked.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I thought… I shouldn’t have said anything. You just-“

“Shut up, Hawke, before you start blushing.” Surprised, he looked at her for the first time since the fiasco had begun; there was just a hint of a flush in her cheeks. Maybe it was the wind and cold – she was usually red-cheeked by the time she abandoned him and went back inside. If that was the case, she was perhaps not as offended and embarrassed as he’d thought she would be.

The woman was looking around them, biting her lower lip and looking torn. Jarod could practically hear the battle that was going on inside her head as she weighed her options. Letting her hair down meant a possible scolding – less for the act itself and more for what it represented. Keeping it in what was left of the braid was silly, and the wind did feel good when it ruffled your hair. He wisely kept his mouth shut this time, letting her decide for her own self without any further prodding from him.

Even if part of him longed to reach out and free her lovely locks himself.

She looked nervous when she pulled the tail-end of her braid over one shoulder. Too nervous for such a simple thing, and he wondered when she’d last made even the smallest decision completely on her own. The people who advised her were all so opinionated and strong-willed; where he would bristle and balk and create hard feelings, Alysia seemed near to breaking as she bent to accommodate all their expectations. He couldn’t use Stone Fist on them, since they were integral to her Inquisition, but he did start plotting ways that he could trap a nice little shocking spell into some of their belongings. Nothing that would really hurt, but just enough to give them a good zap.

“My hair is going to be a rat’s nest after this.” Her nimble fingers had removed the tie in her hair while he plotted, and he resisted the urge to whoop in triumph. _Ha ha! Take_ that _Josephine!_ he wanted to cry to the heavens, refraining only because he’d acted the fool enough already. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so fascinated, and maybe he should have looked away, but instead he watched as the braid unraveled; she did part of the work herself, the wind helping her along as it snatched at the silken mass.

“You can’t tell me it isn’t anyway, when you go back down to the real world. Lying to the Champion is another thing that brings death on swift wings.”

“Mm. I’m very frightened of your prowess. Please forgive me my transgression.” That deadpan she was in possession of was nearly fatal, poking holes in reputation without mercy.

“You’re not taking me seriously. It hurts.”

“Do you want some elfroot to make the pain go away?”

If he’d been able to return fire, his words would have brutal. He would have eviscerated her, and she would have never fully recovered from his rapier wit. Unfortunately, that was the moment when the last remnants of her braid came undone. Almost as if in excitement or approval, the wind that raked itself over the walls of Skyhold swelled, playfully tugging her hair in every direction. The sun was working in her favor as well, the strands catching the light and shining beautifully. For a few moments, Jarod thought she looked like a wild, unbound thing that could save or destroy Thedas with her will alone. She was Andraste’s Chosen – Andraste herself even, come back to the world to fight for it. Standing there on the wall next to him, she was a goddess, and yet so human it broke his heart.

The moment ended, and she was herself again, leaving him to shake his head so he could forget all those foolish fancies. “No. No elfroot.” She caught the sudden somber tone of his voice, and she turned to face him with a question in her eyes. Arching a brow at her, he reached out and tucked one lock of her hair behind her ear; it was quickly pulled out to flutter in the breeze. “Doesn’t that feel better? Bethany-“ Raw emotion lodged in his throat, and he cleared it quickly. Maker did it hurt to talk of her. “Bethany used to say that keeping her hair pulled back for too long gave her headaches. Is that true? I wondered if it was, or if she used that as an excuse. Mother stopped making her braid it before she went to sleep, and that kept Carver from nailing it to her bed.”

Sympathy from anyone made him want to rage and destroy things; it was best if he could hit the person trying to force it on him. Thankfully, what he saw in her wasn’t pity – it was empathy. There was no poking into his pain like some did either, like his life and all the hurts he’d gone through were something to be delved into and shared among the masses. It was what he hated most about Varric’s stupid book; now everyone thought they owned a piece of his grief. Alysia, however, just laid one hand on his arm and gave a reassuring squeeze. It stayed there as she smiled at him and even gave a little laugh.

“He did that? That’s horrible! I bet when she tried to get up that did make her head ache. When I hear stories like that, or about Bartrand from Varric, I’m glad my own brothers were always so disinterested in my existence.” Another light squeeze to his arm, and then she pulled away from him, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the wall. “You were right, by the way.” Her voice was little more than a murmur, and he watched her eyes drift close as she took a deep breath. When her mouth curved into a soft, peaceful smile, he decided he’d done a good day’s work. Later, he would pat himself on the back by getting piss drunk with The Iron Bull.

“It does feel nice to have the wind in my hair. Especially here, with this wind. Skyhold feels like mine, you know. To stand on _my_ walls looking out over _my_ lands and breathing in _my_ wind with my hair all loose… I don't know. It’s like a dream. One I wouldn’t have dared when I was in the Circle.”

“It’s too bad the world is ending. Takes some of the joy out of such things.”

“Well it wasn’t before. Thank you for the reminder.”

“Here to help.” Leaning over the battlement wall, he kept his head turned toward her, a thoughtful look on his face. “I am, you know – here to help. With Stroud missing until Leliana’s birds track him down, my schedule is wide open and fancy free. If you ever need me for one of your missions…” He shrugged, shifting his gaze to the horizon. “I know you have people for that, so you probably don’t want me tagging along and overshadowing your legacy. I’ve been hero-ing longer than you, so naturally I do it better.”

“Mm. I’m sure you do.” Little minx was pacifying him, but he didn’t really mind. “Hawke? There is a way you can help.”

“Stone Fist to the faces of the diplomats that annoy you?”

“Maker no. Josephine would skin us both. I… you… if you just could keep reminding me it’s alright to let the wind make my hair a mess sometimes, I’d appreciate it.”

“At your service, Lady Inquisitor. Oh! I found my mountain!”

“No you didn’t.”

“You can’t possibly know that.” It was a strange thing to bicker about, but they did it anyway. When Cullen left his dismal little tower a few minutes later to hear the debate still raging, he looked at them both like he thought them mad. Then his expression softened into a tiny smile, and he nodded to Hawke in a way that made him seem… grateful.

Maybe Jarod wasn’t the only one glad to see Alysia looking so happy, her hair unbound and fluttering in the wind.


End file.
